


Suit and Tie

by evelynconstance



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Sherlock - Freeform, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynconstance/pseuds/evelynconstance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is super stressed. He can’t tie his tie and his hands keep fumbling, Greg comes along and saves the day, runs his hands through his hair and Mycroft is struggling between flopping into his boyfriends arms and shrugging him off and blaming it on the stress. </p><p>Mycroft is stressed. Greg likes ties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit and Tie

Mycroft was having one of those days. The ones that seemed to drag on forever and everybody seemed exceptionally incompetent, where he felt like firing every single person who worked for him and then make them beg on their knees to get the job back.

Truth be told, it was Sherlock. _Wasn’t it always?_ He was starting WW3 as Mycroft was getting the car back from the office and it was hard keeping everything in check from his secretary’s blackberry.

He’d just fired the 5th person in 5 minutes of his 10-minute journey and the traffic wasn’t helping and all he wanted was for Sherlock to just stop being hyperactive for once and stay at home.

 _Maybe he can inject him with that cold virus again_ Mycroft thought as they jumped a red light. He did thoroughly enjoy watching Sherlock being stuck indoors and it was just what the bloody git deserved after-

“Sir, we’re here”

Mycroft mumbled some kind of thank you and got out the car, letting out some of his anger on the door as he slammed it behind him.

Greg was home and standing in the kitchen in an apron and stirring something that smelled just delicious. Mycroft pulled the knot out of his tie in one quick movement and dumped it on the kitchen table.

“Hello” Mycroft mumbled into Greg’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and pressing kisses up his neck.

“Myc, this Carbonara sauce is going to burn if you keep going” Greg warned

“Says who?” he hummed

“Says me when I’m pinning you down on the kitchen table” Greg seethed, his grip tightening on the wooden spoon in his hand.

Mycroft let out an inaudible groan into Greg shoulder, he was trying to persuade the man to turn around and bloody face him so he could devour that delectable mouth of his-

There was a shrill ring of Mycroft’s phone in the kitchen. Mycroft stopped his movements up Gregs’ neck and sighed, resting his aching head on Gregs’ shoulder.  Mumbling curses under his breath, he pulled out the phone and rolled his eyes, as he should probably answer when the Prime Minister’s secretary calls him.

“Holmes?” Mycroft snapped

The female voice on the other end of line replied coolly, obviously used to someone snapping at her, or at least Mycroft.

“Why don’t you tell him where he can shove his bloody-” Mycroft stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply, exhaling and clenching one of his fists like he did when he was _super_ pissed off.

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes” He said, abruptly hanging up the phone and turning to Greg with the best smile he could muster.

“I’m so sorry Gregory” was all he said before picking up the tie and walking over to the nearest mirror. His hair that was in dire need of a cut was growing a little too far over his ears and looking terribly ruffled, his shirt collar now crumpled from the constant gripping (a habit when he was stressed) made him look terribly out of place.   

This was one of the very few times that Mycroft didn’t look immaculate, his suits weren’t pristine and he wasn’t feeling too powerful and _practically the British government._ Greg hated when he was like this because Mycroft wasn’t one to tell people about his feelings, it took him nearly a year for him to shag the bloody man, and the stress just bottled up then exploded in one big bang of _extremely_ pissed off Mycroft taking it out on the tiles on the wall in the shower.

Greg came up behind him, resting his chin on Mycroft’s tired shoulders, watching the other man in the reflection in the mirror. Bringing his hands up to the overworked head he ran his fingers through the overgrown hair, his fingernails occasionally scratching at his scalp. Mycroft’s eyelids drooped a little and letting out a deep sigh as his knees went weak. He was torn between collapsing into Greg’s arms, melting into a puddle on the floor and never moving and shrugging Greg off and blaming it on the stress.

As Mycroft over thought the situation, Greg’s hands had dropped to the nape of Mycroft’s neck – his one and only weakness that he’d deny to his grave – and Mycroft nearly lost it. Nearly called back the secretary of the Prime Minister and told her where _she_ can shove her bloody situation and just collapse onto the sofa with a large glass of scotch and Greg.

_Nearly._

Greg instead kissed the nape of Mycroft’s neck, turned the man round and tied the red silk with royal blue diagonal stripes tie that Mycroft had been fumbling with for 5 minutes. He made sure that it wasn’t tight enough to strangle to poor man and then neatened out his collar before pressing a kiss to his lips and pulling away, a knowing smile on his face.

Mycroft opened his mouth to talk and Greg beat him to it.

“I won’t wait up for you, I will save you some pasta and I love you too”

Mycroft was annoyed at his predictability but huffed instead, leaving Greg in the hallway with a kiss. Greg watched as the man picked up his coat and ever-present umbrella and turned before leaving through the door.

“Go on, get” Greg shooed the man, giving him a convincing smile that he knew Mycroft could see through. Mycroft didn’t reply as he pulled the door shut, Greg’s smile instantly falling as he turned back to the kitchen for another evening eating alone. 

Mycroft didn’t get back to his flat until nearly midnight, moving around as quietly as he could. Greg heard the movement downstairs but knew that the house was too well protected for it to be anyone else but Mycroft. He didn’t crawl into bed until nearly half 2 in the morning and didn’t fall asleep till nearly 3.

Before Mycroft drifted off, listing all the things he still had to do, Greg rolled over in his sleep and swung a leg over his waist and wriggled closer, his head now buried in Mycroft’s chest.

It was the _best thing_ that had happened all day. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, don't forget to kudos! x


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